


Pidge, an intellectual vs. student athlete

by bellina



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Female Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2018-10-11 01:19:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10451784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellina/pseuds/bellina
Summary: Pidge Gunderson (aka: Katie Holt) is president of the mathletes, hates Coach Iverson (and his band of lacrosse jocks) with a passion, and breaks all the rules just for fun.Lance McClain (aka: Altea High’s self-proclaimed “ladies’ man”) is the only junior to play on the varsity lacrosse team, has an entire fan page solely dedicated to his abs, and sucks at math.The two should never mix. Until one day, they do.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Only the prologue will be in text format!
> 
> Memes inspired this.

**10:57 am**

(Katie): Matt!!11!!

 

**11:16 am**

(Matt): Hey! Is everything alright?

(Katie): Remember how

(Katie): Dad said

(Katie): If I got one more detention he’s going to cancel our netflix subscription

(Katie): Well…

(Katie): Say goodbye to stranger things 

 

**11:42 am**

(Matt): Sorry, in the middle of a lecture. 

(Matt): Also………

(Matt): Are you in trouble?

(Katie): I don’t know??? Iverson wants to see me after school

(Matt): Coach Iverson? Why?

(Katie): Dunno

(Matt): How can you not know?

(Katie): Because I swear I haven’t done anything!!!

(Katie): Anyways help me out

(Katie): Can you cover for me? Tell mom and dad I’ll be home late because of mathletes or something

 

**11:54 pm**

(Matt): You can’t tell them yourself?

(Katie): They would never believe me

 

**12:02 pm**

(Katie): MATT

(Matt): Sorry! Still in lecture.

(Matt): And alright, I’ll cover for you. But you have to let me know what you’re in for as soon as you find out. And you owe me!

(Katie): Yeah yeah, got it, thank you

(Matt): It’s cool :)

(Matt): I got your back, little sis.

(Katie): ew.

(Matt): **:’(**

 

**3:05 pm**

(Katie): KMS

(Matt): Oh no… What’d you do?

(Katie): Nothing???? But they want me to tutor this lacrosse kid? And he’s? ??? Really?? Annoying????

(Matt): Yeah? What’s his name?

(Katie): Lance

(Katie): McClain

(Matt): Huh. Never heard of him.

(Matt): What’s he like?

(Katie): Apart from annoying… dunno

(Katie): Just met

(Katie): Seems kinda douchey

(Matt): Don’t be rude, Katie.

 

**3:16 pm**

(Matt): Is he cute? 

 

**3:18 pm**

(Katie): …………………………

 

**3:24 pm**

(Matt): ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

✔ **Seen 3:24pm**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly this is just a completely self-indulgent campy teen drama because I'm starved of Plance and have really bad taste I guess!!


	2. "Built like an anchovy"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first time they meet is as shitty as you'd expect.

Altea High was, unsurprisingly, your run-of-the-mill classic _hell hole_ of an institution that invested far too much time and funding into bolstering its already jacked up sporting culture, all the while stroking the egos of its student athletes. As a result, they ran the school like a corrupt oligarchy from a Fritz Lang movie, and it _sucked_.

The plus side? Their PA system was ridiculously easy to hack… and the Mathletes totally _killed_ it this year with a perfect winning streak. Otherwise? Nothing much.

“Aaaaaand that marks the end of lacrosse season! Now I know you’re all upset, but come on! Our boys deserve a break, am I right?”

A half-assed round of applause and a few errant whoops were heard. Pidge glanced over her shoulder… they weren’t distracted enough just yet.

“Also, a quick reminder that the official congratulatory assembly _will_ be held next week… but let’s give one more round of applause to Altea High’s very own Lions!”

The hallway immediately descended into a cacophony of cheers and celebratory shouts – someone even threw a cardigan in the air. Not a single person was watching her. Perfect.

Pidge tore the celibacy club’s “Abstinence is key! May your resolve stay sturdy!” poster off the notice board and replaced it with her own “Obstinance is key! May you all stay thirsty!” version.

“Wow.” A voice came from behind her.

“Ah!”

She whipped around and immediately felt the tension leave her.

“Jesus, Keith, you scared me.” Pidge said, clutching her chest. He shrugged.

“Didn’t know you were so passionate about… sex?” Keith replied, eyeing the poster with his head cocked.

“No it’s – it’s _ironic_ , get it? Because they’re the celibacy club and…” Pidge gestured towards her handiwork.

Keith just stared at her in confusion.

“You know what? Forget it…” She mumbled, dejected.

“No, I get it.” Keith ventured. “This is another one of your school pranks, right?”

“Kinda,” Pidge replied.

The truth was, she was itching to do something bigger; something better. Last year, she’d rigged the PA system to play an endless loop of Smash Mouth’s _All Star_ until school had to be cancelled for the rest of the day – it was her greatest achievement yet.

It also landed her in the Principal’s office with a suspension on her permanent record. If only she hadn’t used that hamburger-shaped USB Matt had given her for her birthday… Leaving evidence on site: rookie mistake.

“Look, Keith.” Pidge huffed. “I gotta stay on the down-low until I come up with something _flawless_. I can’t risk getting caught again.”

“Or…” He offered. “You could just _not_ fuck with the school?”

“And let them sit there thinking they’ve won?!" She practically shouted. "Never!”

Keith sighed. “And who exactly are ‘they’?”

Pidge leaned in as close as she could, which wasn’t quite as intimidating as she’d anticipated, what with her height an all (or lack thereof).

“Everyone, Keith.” She whispered dramatically. “ _Everyone_.” Before leaving him to go find her locker.

“You're super weird!” Keith called out after her, but she could hear the amusement in his voice.

"That's why we're friends!" Pidge shouted back, shooting him an over-the-shoulder Schwarzenegger-esque thumbs up for good measure before disappearing down the halls.

 

 

The thing about Altea High was that each day was almost exactly like the last. This, Pidge knew with absolute certainty.

One: The lacrosse jocks ruled the school, and it wasn't even because the entire student body absolutely _adored_ them; even the teachers fed into it. Pidge suspected it had a lot to do with the funding they received whenever the Lions cleaned up another championship game.

Two: The Mathletes? Absolute bottom tier of the social hierarchy; the extracurricular equivalent of gutter-water. And Pidge was... strangely okay with that. The thing was, when you were that far from the top of the pyramid, no one really cared about you. And people tended to leave you alone.

Three: After school announcements (like the one she'd just heard) always sounded at two thirty on the dot.

Coach Iverson had told Pidge to meet him in the student counsellor's office at two thirty-five, which meant that after her little run-in with Keith she was late. Super late. And she still needed to collect her books from her locker.

On a normal day this wasn't a hard task. Today, however, the universe just wanted to fuck with her:

There was a couple flirting against her locker.

Pidge recognised them both, actually. The girl’s name was Nyma. She was the junior-class president, which Pidge knew for two reasons: one, she actually wore the novelty “class president” badge as if it were… well, as if it were a _real_ badge, and two, the girl was unforgettably pretty. Big blue doe eyes and golden hair pulled up in a high ponytail – she looked like a living Barbie doll.

The boy, on the other hand… Pidge had seen him around the halls, but his name was lost on her. She did, however, recognise his blue and white letterman jacket, which was already a sure sign indicator that he was just another one of Iverson’s air-headed lacrosse jocks. Still, if he had _one_ thing going for him, it would have to be his looks. Pidge gave credit when credit was due: he was attractive, and he'd definitely hit the genetic lottery with that bronzed complexion and those piercing navy eyes.

“So we’re down to the last minute of the fourth quarter, and by now the other team’s figured out that I’m their biggest threat, you know, since I’d scored the most goals by then…”

Ugh. The humble brag.

Pidge watched Nyma’s strawberry glossed lips twist into a forced smile. She almost felt bad.

“…But it’s obviously going to take more than a lazy goalkeeper and some shitty defence to keep the team’s ‘Sharp-shooter’ from scoring the winning point.” The boy said, flexing.

Dear _lord_ Pidge did not have time for this.

“You know..." She interrupted, conscious of how she'd startled them both. "Referring to yourself in the third person is a symptom of grandiose narcissism.”

“Actually!” Nyma chimed in, with unexpected enthusiasm. “It’s quite a common stylistic device used by politicians! I think Julius Caesar did it once.” She added, tapping her index finger to her chin.

Pidge was impressed, albeit taken aback. “Oh god, don’t compare him to Julius Caesar. His ego can’t take it.”

Nyma rolled her eyes, knowingly.

“Um… excuse me? But _‘he’_ is standing right here, and I think you guys just insulted me!”

Pidge snorted, turning her attention towards the boy. “You think?”

He paused for a moment, incredulous. “Dude, what is your _problem_?”

“Right now? You.” Pidge replied, gesturing towards the little metal door. “You’re standing in front of my locker.”

“Oh! Right!” Nyma exclaimed, momentarily diffusing the tension. “I’ve gotta go anyway.” She said, pushing off the metal surface.

“Wait – Nyma!”

“I’ll call you later, Lance.” She giggled, shooting Pidge an appreciative look before making her way down the hall.

There was an awkward moment of silence. And then:

“I think…” Pidge muttered, staring at Nyma’s retreating form.

“What?” Lance asked, narrowing his eyes at her.

She turned to face him.

“I think I just rescued that girl.” Pidge declared before turning to her locker without another word.

As she packed her things, she heard his footsteps grow more distant down the hallway.

Satisfied, Pidge grabbed her bag and made her way towards the student counsellor's office, having gone from super late to abysmally behind schedule. When the familiar mahogany door was finally in her sights, Pidge realised just how anxious she was about this meeting.

The last time Pidge was this close to Iverson’s signature you-reek-of-inadequacy scowl was in freshman year gym before she had the family doctor fake her a medical certificate that would give her exemption from PE essentially until she graduated.

He saw right through it, of course, but shrugged and simply said “natural selection will come for you, Gunderson” before taking the counterfeit note and slithering back into his office. He’d also made some off-handed remarks about her being equally as incompetent in class, which left Pidge fuming of course, but she tried her best to repress those memories.

Needless to say, they haven’t been on good terms since.

But here they were: seated opposite each other in the student counsellor’s office - Iverson behind the desk - while the actual student counsellor stood awkwardly beside him.

“So um… Pidge. Should we get started?” Coran asked, finally breaking the silence.

“Depends. What exactly is it that we’re trying to ‘start’?” She asked, turning to face him.

“Well we’re…” Coran eyed his fellow associate, hoping that as educators who both had a passion for enriching the lives of others, they would be able to deliver the bad news together. He was wrong.

“Listen, Gunderson. You interested in sports?” Iverson said.

Pidge scoffed. “I think we both know the answer to that.”

“Well that figures, considering you’re built like an anchovy–”

“Uh– Coach, perhaps we shouldn’t patronise the children–”

“But for the rest of the school - the rest of us here - who actually _care_ about our reputation: the lacrosse team is our pride and joy.”

 _Your_ pride and joy, Pidge wanted to add, considering the fact that Iverson was a forty year old bachelor whose only other achievement in life was that he’d successfully Pavlovian conditioned the entire student body into running laps at the mere sound of a whistle.

“Twenty years, we’ve made it to state finals. Twenty."

Pidge couldn't help but laugh at that. “Yeah? And how many have you actually won?”

Coran found it the right time to interject:

“Look, Pidge... What Coach Iverson is trying to say is that our school receives funding on the basis of its reputation, and much of our prestige is owed to our excellent sporting program… Are you getting the message here?”

“That capitalism is to blame for our senseless obsession with a bunch of dumb jocks?” Pidge said.

Iverson looked like he was going to pop a vein, and in that, Pidge relished. He might've actually - popped a vein, that is - if not for Coran and his valiant attempts to keep everyone in the room alive.

“Actually, no... What we're trying to say is that if the lacrosse team would - for whatever reason - be unable to produce the expected results, the school could potentially lose some of its funding from the state, and that would be disastrous - to say the least.”

“With all due respect, sir: I'm sure cutting costs on a few _lacrosse sticks_ and _cheer camps_ would be less than 'disastrous'.”

Pidge was growing impatient. Was she in trouble or not? Because if this was just some lame excuse to get her back in gym, she was already armed with drawer-full of forged medical certificates.

“Look, Gunderson." Iverson said, slamming his palm down on the table. Dude needed to control his emotions.

"I'm going to be blunt with you."

 _What a suprise_ , Pidge thought.

"Our star attacker is failing maths; I'm not gonna lie - he's not the brightest kid. The school’s policy is that all varsity team players must have at least a C average to play, and we can’t lose him."

Oh no... she could see where this was going.

"I’ve tried to get the headmistress to make an exception but it seems she’s not willing–”

“Oh my god, you’re asking me to _tutor_ the lacrosse team?!”

“Not the entire team, Pidge, just one." Coran chimed in. "And only for a few weeks! For extra credit, of course.”

“Again, with all due respect, Coran: I don’t _need_ extra credit.”

“You’re not looking at the bigger picture, Gunderson! If we lose him, we start losing games. And if we lose games the school loses funding.”

“First of all, if your entire team is relying on this one guy to win their games, then maybe they just aren’t that good of a team." Pidge stated. "Second of all - and this is the most important thing: _I don’t care_.”

Iverson appeared unfazed by that sick burn she'd just delivered, much to her dismay. He did, however begin smiling, and _that_ was seriously unsettling.

“And that's where you're wrong, Gunderson. The _most_ important thing is actually that suspension on your permanent record, isn't it?”

Pidge narrowed her eyes. “Where is this going?”

It was Coran's turn to deliver the ultimatum.

“The Principal, Pidge, has agreed to give you a clean slate and erase _all_ record of misconduct on the condition that you agree to do this.”

 _A clean slate_. Pidge balked.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t this bribery?”

“Well... I suppose that's one way of putting it... Of course under normal circumstances we would never allow anything like this. But Principal Allura and I have recognised what an exceptional student you are, Pidge! You’re at the top of all your classes, and your achievements with the Mathletes are outstanding. We both agree it would be a shame to have your future prospects ruined because of a few mistakes you made in your formative years.”

She considered it, and to be fair: it sounded really tempting. But there was just one thing bothering her:

“Why can’t this kid get a tutor outside of school like everyone else?”

“Because he’s aiming for a sports scholarship, Gunderson!" Iverson declared, like it was the most obvious thing ever. "Kid has training every morning and every afternoon.”

Pidge sighed. She was really going to sell herself out to the enemy for a shiny new report card.

"I'll do it."

“So that’s a yes!” Coran exclaimed, clasping his fingers together.

“It’s an I-don’t-have-a-fucking-choice-do-I? sir.”

“Oh, well...”

“It’s fine. So who’s the lucky kid?”

“That’s right! He was actually meant to be at this meeting - I wonder if he’s running late. What was his name again, Coach?”

“McClain. Lance McClain.”

Lance…

Why did that name sound so familiar–

Just then, the door burst open and a boy in a blue and white letterman jacket stumbled in.

“I’m here! Sorry! Had to go get my gear before I–”

He looked up, eyes locked on Pidge. She watched in horror as realisation dawned on him.

Jesus shit.

“You!!!” They both screamed in unison.

“Great! So you’ve met!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had two big exams over the past two weeks! Apologies for the delayed update!


	3. "Small… dwarf-sized Satan"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance is a dweeb. Pidge is savage as hell. Both of them are kind of dicks. And that’s what you missed on Glee! Wait, what-

“ _That’s_ my new tutor?” Lance said, staring at Pidge in disbelief.

“That? I have a name!” 

Lance totally ignored her.

“She insulted me in the hallway!” He accused, pointing a finger at her.

“He was asking for it!”

Solid defence. 

“Pidge! That doesn’t seem like something you’d do!” Coran exclaimed, looking at her with concern.

“It seems _exactly_ like something she’d do!” Lance interjected. “And your name is _Pidge_?!” He said, enunciating the word with distaste.

Meanwhile Iverson simply observed the entire exchange with a small, pensive frown. Mentally placing bets on the kids, probably. In all honesty, he was gunning for Pidge.

“Hey, at least I don’t call myself the ‘Sharp-shooter’.” Pidge retaliated, adding air quotes for effect.

Lance groaned. “Is it too late to find someone else? I don’t think we’re…”

He eyed Pidge warily.

“…Compatible,” he concluded.

Pidge scoffed. “Dude, it’s a tutoring program not a dating app. Not that you know the difference.” 

“See what I mean! She insults me every chance she gets!” Lance shot an accusatory look at Coran while gesturing towards Pidge.

“Oh dear…” Coran muttered, beginning to realise the severity of the situation. “What if we-”

“Don’t make it so easy then.” Pidge snickered, finding the whole situation hilarious at this point. God, he did make it _way_ too easy.

“You wanna know what’s _easy_?” Lance sneered. “Girls like you would _jump_ at a chance to be with a guy like me.”

Ah, the low sexist blow. He really was trash.

“Lance!” Coran exclaimed. But Pidge, thoroughly pissed, already had her shots locked and loaded.

“If by jump, you mean _off a bridge_ then finally, we agree on something you _entitled_ son of a-”

“Alright you two! That’s enough!”

In an instant, the door swung open and everyone immediately fell still.

There in the doorway stood Principal Allura, in all her disciplinary glory, looking like she’d just stumbled upon an underground fight club in the middle of her school – which, to be fair, wasn’t too far off from where the situation was headed.

When Pidge first enrolled in Altea High, she wondered why the board had approved someone so young to oversee the school. Upon her first week here she quickly realised why. It seemed that Principal Allura had a reputation for running a tight shift – she was meticulous in all aspects of her work – but above all else: she knew how to end a fight. It was an irrefutable fact that Allura always had the final word, and no self-respecting human being dared talk back.

Today was one of those days; her patience was wearing thin.

“Lance, step away from Pidge. Pidge, calm down. And Coach Iverson _please_ stop placing bets on the children! I could hear you bickering all the way from my office!” Allura said as she stepped into the room. “I assume it has nothing to do with our proposed tutoring program?”

“No no, Allura. We were just… going through a bit of a rough patch! But not to worry, I’m handling it,” Coran said. 

He clearly wasn’t, but Pidge knew when to keep her mouth shut.

“Thank you, Coran. Because I’d hate to remind both Pidge and Lance here that this opportunity is a _privilege_ offered by the school, and not something that is open for negotiations.”

“Couldn’t agree more, Allura. They’ll be on their best behaviour, right kids?”

“Uh… yeah.” Pidge responded when she caught Coran shooting her a pleading look.

“Yes sir.” Lance said stiffly.

“Fabulous. Then we'll proceed as planned. Now in terms of lessons, I expect you two to sort out times yourselves, keeping in mind we have less than a month before finals." Allura said as she looked back and forth between the two students. Then as an afterthought, added: "I expect great things from you two!” And with that, she was gone.

“Alright, well, you heard the headmistress. Let’s get this sorted, shall we.” Coran moved to the shelf at the back of his room and pulled out a tabulated notebook.

“Pidge, I’m sure you’re familiar with this?”

She nodded. “A logbook.”

It was the same one they gave all the club presidents, used mainly for keeping record of meetings and other administrative matters for the school to monitor their activity.

“Good, so you’ll know how to fill it in. Just a quick reminder though: make sure after each session you write down the date and provide a brief summary of the lesson. It’s also essential that both you and Lance sign it.” Coran said, handing the book to Pidge.

“Do I get one?” Lance asked.

“Nope, only the authorities.” Pidge replied without thinking.

Lance glared at her. “You’re not the boss of me.”

“Oh but I am,” she said with a condescending smirk. “Because unless I help you get your grades up, you’re off the varsity team.”

“And unless he gets his grades up, Gunderson, that suspension stays on your permanent record.” Iverson chimed in, having awoken from his catatonic state, apparently.

“I knew you were getting something out of this!” Lance exclaimed triumphantly.

“Duh, did you honestly think I’d spend time with you _voluntarily_?”

Lance narrowed his eyes at Pidge, but bit his tongue. She half expected him to say “yes”. But before they could descend into another verbal battle, Coach Iverson stepped in.

“Alright, fishsticks-”

Only Pidge turned. It took Lance another moment to realise Iverson was referring to him too.

“From what I can see, you clearly don’t like each other. But that’s not my problem. In fact I couldn’t care less about your personal issues.”

Coran lifted a finger to interject, but Iverson was off on one of his tangents.

“At the end of the day you just have to suck it up and think about what’s best for the school.”

Pidge fought down the urge to mention she didn’t really give a shit about the school, partly because she felt the Principal would overhear.

Iverson turned, this time speaking directly to Lance. “McClain, the entire team is counting on you. Don’t let us down.”

“Yes sir.” Lance replied, expression faltering only for a moment.

“And Gunderson…” The coach paused for a second, giving Pidge a quick once-over. His frown deepened. “Just stay out of trouble.”

“Eh,” she shrugged.

No one pushed further – they knew it was as good as a "yes sir" from Pidge.

“Good.” Iverson finished, though he didn’t look like he believed it. “Now both of you get yourselves home already. I cancelled practice for this damn meeting and we're already overtime.”

And with that both Pidge and Lance left the room without speaking another word.

For a while, Lance meandered ahead awkwardly while Pidge lingered in the halls, neither willing to break the ice. God, this was painful.

Finally, Lance turned.

“Look.” He said, staring Pidge down. “We’ll never be friends.”

“Agreed.” She replied without hesitation. 

“But we both need this thing to work out.”

“…Agreed.” Pidge said, this time with more reluctance.

“So let’s just…” He looked away, rubbing the back of his head as if nursing a migraine. “ _Try_ to survive the next month until finals and then we won’t have to deal with each other ever again.”

“That last part does sound promising…”

“Yeah, it does.” Lance said, eyes landing on hers. “So do we have a deal or not?”

“We have a deal,” Pidge finally replied. She considered offering a hand-shake for good measure, but dismissed the thought quickly.

“What times are you free?” She asked instead.

“I guess lunch time would be the easiest.”

“Yeah? Fridays in the library sound good?”

Pidge watched him consider it for a moment. And then:

“And Wednesdays.”

“ _And_ Wednesdays? Twice a week?”

“Is that okay?” Lance asked with a twinge of annoyance. “I mean finals are in a month, I don’t wanna fuck this up.”

“I guess…” She muttered, not expecting him to take this thing so seriously.

“Okay.” He said curtly, before turning to leave.

He’d only made it a few steps before he paused again. Pidge watched his shoulders tense, like he was contemplating something. Then he turned.

“Wait…” Lance said, with obvious reluctance.

_Now what?_

“Yeah…?”

“Before, when I…” He looked particularly constipated as he ground out the next words, and Pidge inwardly marvelled at the spectacle.

“When I called you easy...”

Oh. The comment had offended her at the time, but she’d forgotten about it already. And he was bringing it up because…?

Lance sighed.

“That was low of me… I’m sorry.” He finally said.

“S’fine,” was Pidge’s articulate response, to which Lance gave a curt nod and left, pacing down the hallway with renewed confidence.

Pidge stood there for a minute processing what had just happened. He’d actually apologised for insulting her… Why…? She shook her head; decided against reading too much into it. After all, you can’t give someone credit just for being a decent human being, right? Still, it did leave her hating him a little less. Just. _A little_.

 

 

So their plan was to meet at the library when the lunch bell rang, but of course, because the universe hated her and nothing ever went right, she bumped into Lance in the hallway. He was with a senior from the lacrosse team who Pidge always referred to as “Pantene Sephiroth”.

“I can’t believe you guys are graduating in a few weeks!” She overheard Lance say. “While I’m stuck with Iverson for another year.”

Pantene Sephiroth chuckled.

“At least I know the team’s in good hands,” he replied with a good-natured smack against Lance’s shoulder.

Pidge was slightly taken aback: he had a nice voice – deep and resonant – spoken in a charming British accent. His graduation would undoubtedly break a few hearts.

Nonetheless, Pidge was on a mission: make it past the two without being noticed. Hopefully then she could avoid the awkward walk to the library with Lance. But Lance wasn’t having it.

“What are thooooose!” He screamed when he spotted her, pointing at the huge pile of textbooks in her arms.

“Fuck off before I kick you.” Was her automatic response.

“And who might this be?” A voice came from beside them.

“Right! Where are my manners.” Lance said with a clap of his hands.

“Lotor, this is my tutor, Pidge.” He said enthusiastically, before dropping all expression as he turned to her. “Why don’t you introduce yourselves.”

Lotor extended a hand towards Pidge. “Nice to meet you,” he said with a smile.

Now that she was standing right in front of him, Pidge realised Lotor was actually very tall – though not taller than Lance. The two of them towered over her, and she might’ve felt intimated had she not reminded herself how much of an idiot Lance was.

She stared at Lotor’s hand, and then at the pile of textbooks in her arms, then back at him.

Lotor caught on quickly and laughed. “Oops, that was awkward. Would you like some help with those?” he asked.

“Don’t bother.” Lance interrupted. “As you can see, she’s doing great on her own.”

“And as _you_ can see…” Pidge said, directing her gaze towards Lotor. “Romeo over here _is_ as dumb as he looks. Now if you’ll excuse us, I have to tolerate this shitstain for an hour so I can graduate high school with a functional permanent record.”

Lance let out a pained noise that sounded halfway between a whine and a sigh before – to Pidge’s surprise – snatching the entire pile of textbooks out of her hands and slinging them under his arm like a basketball.

“Let’s get this over with.” He huffed, before walking off. “You coming or not, pipsqueak?”

Pidge pulled a face, but followed him anyway. “Was nice meeting you too, Lotor.” She said before disappearing down the hallway.

“I’ll see you at practice, Lance.” Lotor called out, amusement apparent in his tone.

Lance shot him an overhead thumbs up with his free hand.

 

 

Luckily the library wasn’t too far off, so the walk – awkward as it was – didn’t last long.

Still, Pidge was wary of how everyone was watching them as they made their way into the library. For a moment she’d forgotten Lance was actually popular – most of the student body was either acquainted with him or knew of him, at the very least. It was unnerving… having this many eyes on her. She willed herself to stay focused on the task as hand.

They quickly found an empty table and Lance pulled out a chair for Pidge, gesturing towards it in mock courtesy.

“M’lady.”

Pidge rolled her eyes. “Ugh, don’t patronize me with memes, McClain.” She said, taking the seat anyway. He plopped down beside her.

“Don’t call me _McClain_ ,” he said with a shudder. “I get enough of that from Iverson already.”

Ah. Subtle Iverson-related shade. She could appreciate that.

“Also – _wow_. I was trying to be nice.”

Pidge scoffed. “What is it, opposite day today?”

“Can’t be,” Lance said, not missing a beat. “You’re still as evil as ever.”

“Evil,” Pidge repeated as she laid out her textbooks. “That’s new.”

“It is?” Lance followed suit, pulling out his own stuff from his bag. “Frankly, I’m surprised. Evil fits you to a T. You’re like a small… dwarf-sized Satan.”

“If only your grades were as good as your comebacks.” Pidge replied while flipping through his exercise book.

“So you think my comebacks are good, huh?” he said with a smirk.

Dammit. _You win this round._

Pidge sent him a quick death-glare before redirecting her focus to the page in front of her.

_What the hell was this?_

“Why do you do all your working in red?” she asked. “It’s making my eyes bleed.”

“What- no? I only use red for the questions I get _wrong_ …” Lance said, leaning over to examine his notes.

“The…” Pidge swallowed. “The whole page is in red… though…” She felt her blood pressure rise to dangerous levels as realisation dawned on her.

He at least had the decency to look sheepish.

“Heh. Surprise?”

There was a pregnant silence, and then:

“ _Seriously, Lance?_ ”

He remained silent, and Pidge made the mistake of staring directly at his face: Lance was pouting. For the briefest of moments she actually thought he looked kinda cute like this – before mentally stabbing the thought. Thirty-two times. With an ice-pick.

“Are you going to tell me I’m a hopeless idiot, too?” He asked, interrupting her train of thought.

_Too?_

Pidge sighed. “You _are_ a hopeless idiot-”

He winced.

“-But not because you’re bad at math. We can…” She flipped through the pages one more time. “This is salvageable,” she said with conviction.

“It is?” Lance piqued up.

“It is.”

And it was. Pidge knew from early on she’d been gifted with intelligence – after all, she’d taken after her father and brother. She also had her mother’s perseverance, which meant that studying had always been easy for her. But despite her own experiences, she would never let someone feel insecure over their grades. There were just some things you didn’t tease people about. This was one of them.

“Okay but now that I know just how bad-” Pidge was trying her best not to insult him this time, but it was proving more difficult than expected considering how they'd only ever communicated in insults.

Second attempt.

“Now that we know how much work there is to do, I think I’m gonna spend today just coming up with a plan or something…”

She slid him the logbook.

“So I guess that means you can go. Make sure you sign and we’ll just pretend we had a lesson.”

“You sure?” Lance asked tentatively, even though he was already signing it off.

“Yeah, I work better alone anyway.” Pidge replied.

“Cool!” He said with a brilliant smile.

Then, for whatever reason, he grabbed the logbook again and scribbled something down before dashing towards the exit.

“I’ll catch you on Friday then!” Lance shouted from across the library, giving Pidge a wave. It earned him a glare from the librarian.

Pidge shooed him with her hands - her equivalent of a wave back. When he was finally gone, she let out a sigh of relief. God, was Lance one exhausting human being.

As she grabbed the logbook and placed it next to her, something caught her eye.

Next to the box that said “Club President” – where her name was supposed to go – Lance had left a smiley face.

“Idiot.” She muttered under her breath. Though she didn't feel  _totally_ sour over it.

 _Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad!_ Pidge thought.

Famous last words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit that was so fkn long I'm sorry!!


	4. "I’m like Teflon, baby. Nothing sticks to me"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The enemies to frenemies™ chapter. Kind of.

The thing was, Pidge had actually gone home with high hopes on Wednesday evening. Pulled up a spreadsheet on her laptop and churned out a very meticulous lesson plan for each tutorial. Obviously they had a lot of shit to cover before finals, but somehow she’d managed it. They’d be fine as long as they’d stuck to the rigorous schedule.

Or so she’d thought.

Friday rolled over – their first proper lesson. Pidge was slowly coming to terms with the fact that… this wasn’t going to work out.

“I give up!” Lance huffed, throwing his hands into the air. “There’s no way circles need to be this complicated.”

Pidged sighed. “Lance, come on. It’s simple geometry. They taught us these formulas _last_ _year_.”

Lance sent her an accusatory glare.

“I know the rules! What I don’t get is what they have to do with this question!” He pointed at the worksheet like a pastor having discovered his son’s pornography collection; as if the thing was sin incarnate.

“It…” Pidge was simply incredulous. “What do you _mean_. You apply the rules to the question and use them to figure it out. I… I’ve spent the last hour showing you!”

“Oh, well, we’re not all _geniuses_ like you, Pidge.”

Pidge scowled. She wanted to strangle him.

“Wow. Thanks for the back-handed compliment. It’s not like I was trying to _help_.”

“Help me? Or yourself?”

“Ridiculous. You’re impossible, you know that?”

Pidge made to leave, grabbing her things. Lance had thoroughly pissed her off. She supposed he was equally as annoyed with her, but that was beside the point! She’d genuinely wanted to help this boy – even had the gall to feel a bit sorry for him – but if he was going to be difficult, what was the point?

“Wait!”

Lance placed his hand over her book to stop her from picking it up. She glared at him.

“Get your hand off my book–”

“I’m sorry.”

Pidge raised an eyebrow, but stayed otherwise motionless.

And then Lance did something that surprised her – he grabbed her wrist. Carefully though, like he was scared she’d lash out and bite him or something. But Pidge was so taken aback by the gesture she didn’t know how to respond, simply letting him pull her back into her seat.

Lance sighed.

“Oh god, don’t go. As much as I hate to admit it, if you give up on me now I’m screwed.”

Pidge sunk lower in her seat with a groan. There was a lot of that this lesson. Groaning. Swearing. Thinly veiled threats of murder. Whoever thought this was going to be smooth sailing was sorely mistaken.

They sat in silence for a few moments, if only to let some of the tension dissipate.

“Dude,” Pidge finally said. “I don’t think this is gonna work out.”

Lance frowned beside her. “Why? Because we hate each other? Or because I’m an idiot?”

She turned to face him. “Well at least you’re self-aware.”

“Fuck you!”

“That’s it, I’m leaving–”

“Nooo… come back…”

It was Pidge’s turn to throw her hands in the air. This was getting ridiculous.

The whole day was a disaster! She didn’t have enough fingers to count how many things had gone wrong. Not only was Lance absolutely clueless but completely insufferable and _annoying_. He was easily distracted and way too talkative, and at least twice during their one hour session did someone come up to their table and attempt to have a conversation with him. How did popular people deal with the attention, honestly? On top of that, it seemed like Lance felt the need to question absolutely everything Pidge said, arguing with her every step of the way.

_“Make sure you memorise this formula.”_

_“Why?”_

_“Because you’ll need it for the exam.”_

_“According to who?”_

_“I don’t know! According to whoever wrote the exam?”_

_“Then who wrote the formula?”_

_“Who – I don’t know, Lance! Who cares!?”_

The most frustrating part was that he… wasn’t actually _horrible_ at math. Lacking in knowledge, definitely, but a surprisingly fast learner. The real issue was compliance – there was very little time spent learning and more time spent bickering. Pidge was tempted to just give up entirely, but she needed this whole thing to work out as much as he did – that suspension wasn’t going to erase itself. So with a sigh, she prepared herself for the pep-talk of the century.

“Lance, listen to me.” Pidge said, looking him dead in the eye. He seemed tired. They both were.

She scrunched her face.

“You’re not as dumb as you think.”

There was a moment of silence. And then:

“ _Dude_. Did you just try to pep-talk me? And was _that_ it?”

Pidge looked hopeful.

“Did it work?”

“No! I can’t tell if I’m supposed to be flattered or offended.”

“Alright, you know what? Fuck it.”

She took a deep breath in before continuing. Sugar-coating wasn’t really her forte, after all.

“Lance, you’re a massive tool, you know that? And kind of an asshole. And a bit of a dick sometimes, too.”

Lance looked _appalled_ , opening his mouth to interject, but Pidge quickly shushed him.

“But you know what you’re not? You’re not an idiot. And I really _truly_ believe your assholery doesn’t have to get in the way of your grades. I can help you. But we can’t keep wasting our time just… _arguing_. Do you see my point?”

She looked at him expectantly.

Pidge studied his face carefully, already anticipating some kind of retaliation simply because she'd grown accustomed to his snarky remarks. But instead he just looked… pensive. Like he was trying to figure something out…

“You’re right,” he finally replied, a strange calmness to his tone.

Pidge couldn’t help the look of surprise. _You’re right_. Ha. She could get used to the sound of that.

“Good. Because if you even want to _think_ about passing math this semester then from now on you do exactly as I say, no questions asked. And for fuck’s sake, be on time?”

“Yeah yeah. I got it,” he replied in a sarcastic, lazy drawl. Back to normal, it seemed.

Pidge narrowed her eyes. “ _Lance_.”

“Roger that, Captain!”

“Good.”

“Ugh…” Lance groaned as he planted his face into the desk. “Could they have picked a worse pair for this?”

Pidge scoffed. “Right? It’s like the whole multiverse is trying to fuck with our lives.”

And as if right on cue, the bell rang, signalling the end of lunch.

Pidge frowned. Balls. They’d have to do double the work next lesson, she supposed, not entirely sure if it was even possible.

The library had already begun emptying out as students rushed to class, but Lance remained beside her.

“Hey… you okay there?”

Pidge looked at him, biting the inside of her cheek.

“Yeah… just realised we’re a little behind schedule.”

She began collecting her things slowly, dejected. After a moment’s silence, Lance spoke.

“Then… do you wanna meet up after school?”

Pidge looked at him. “What you mean? You have practice.”

“For an hour! On Fridays we only do an hour. You could… I mean…”

“Are you asking me to wait for you to finish practice _for an hour_ , and then tutor you again _for an hour?_ ”

“Yeah… that does sound shitty,” Lance mumbled, scratching the back of his head in frustration. “Oh man…. I just really wanna pass math, you know?”

There it was again. That damned _pout_. He looked like a goddamned kicked puppy, and Pidge wondered if he did it unconsciously. It made her feel _bad_. But she had her own shit to do – was she seriously considering losing her Friday evenings to Lance?

Fuck.

She was.

But there was no way she was going to wait for an hour.

“I’ll meet up with you,” she settled. “But only if you skip lacrosse practice.”

“Dude, no. Coach would kill me.”

“Probably. But he’ll also kill you if you get kicked off the team. So, your choice,” she said with a shrug, already gathering her things.

Lance sighed beside her.

“Crap… I hate it when you’re right…”

“Which is why we can never be friends.” Pidge turned to him with a smirk. “I’m always right.”

Lanced rolled his eyes, but otherwise ignored her comment.

“Do you have any idea where we could go?”

Pidge thought for a moment. Her house was a no-go. She’d have to explain to her parents why Lance was visiting, and they still didn’t know about her suspension. Could she ask to go to his? No… that would be weird… She’d only met the guy like two days ago. Then she had an idea.

“Sometimes I go to Vrepit Sal’s to study…”

“The old diner on the edge of town? Really? It’s kinda far…”

“I know, but it’s quiet. Unless you just want to go to the local library?”

“Ew, no. The place is always packed.”

He was right. The local library was a warzone after school – it would take an hour before they even found seats. That, and the fact that Pidge didn’t want to risk being seen with Lance outside of school. Rumours, and all that.

“So… Vrepit Sal’s?” she asked.

“Seems like it.” Lance replied. “I’ll pick you up after?”

Pidge considered it. It was a generous offer, really. But the thought of being stuck in a car with Lance for even a few minutes didn’t appeal to her at all.

“I’ll just take the bus.”

“Seriously? The bus takes forever though!”

“Well yeah, but you and I aren’t exactly on a carpool basis.” She said it like it was the most obvious thing ever. 

Lance simply stared at her like she’d grown an extra head.

“I’m sure you can hold off strangling me for just a few minutes. I’ll pick you up, it’s cool.”

Pidge scrunched her face, still not happy with the prospect but too tired at this point to argue.

“Alright. Fine. Back gate, after school.”

“Right. I’ll be there.”

And with that, Lance shouldered his bag and left.

Pidge rubbed her temples. That boy… really was something. She wondered how one person could be so utterly _confusing_. It frustrated her to no end that she couldn’t figure him out. One minute he was the stereotypical jock: loud, obnoxious and painfully unaware of his own narcissism – and that was easy to understand; that made sense. But the next he was carrying her books and offering her rides and worrying about his grades like everyone else.

Ugh. 

Pidge didn’t like people she couldn’t figure out. Because it made them unpredictable. And that was a dangerous thing, she’d learned.

 _Just one month_ , she told herself. _Just one month_.

 

 

He drove a station wagon. A blue station wagon.

Pidge didn’t know why it surprised her so much. Maybe she’d expected him to drive something sportier, flashier… a car as loud as his ego. Or maybe it was because she’d never thought that this beat-up little station wagon would actually suit him so well – had this classic feel to it that just fit him to a T.

Pidge couldn’t help it. She whistled.

Lance put the car in park and leaned over to open the passenger side door for her.

“She’s a 1975 Oldsmobile Custom Cruiser,” he said with a grin. “Used to be my uncle’s.”

“Don’t know jack about cars, but she’s pretty.” Pidge replied as she placed herself in the passenger seat.

Lance glowed at the praise, brushing some dust off the dashboard. “Hear that Blue? She thinks you’re pretty.”

Pidge laughed.

“Oh my god. Of course you would name your car, that’s so you.”

Lance turned to her, brow raised. “What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

Pidge shook her head. “You’re such a kid.”

“Hey! At least I don’t look like one.”

“I’m a late bloomer!” Pidge huffed, crossing her arms. “I’m only like… a few months younger than you.” Probably. She was guessing. She _did_ skip a year in middle school.

“I bet dermatologists hate you.”

Lance laughed at his own joke, and Pidge couldn’t help cracking a smile too, but she was still pretty bitter. Wasn’t her fault she was born tiny!

The drive to the diner was only about fifteen minutes, but in rush hour, a good thirty. When Lance pulled onto the road it was already packed with busloads of students and parents trying to pick up their kids.

The ride wasn’t as awkward as Pidge had expected. In fact, it wasn’t awkward at all. Maybe because they’d gotten so good at throwing insults at each other that casual conversation was the next logical progression. And… something else. Like how, when Lance wasn’t surrounded by hordes of people stroking his ego and encouraging his antics, he actually came off as... kind of decent.

“So… I heard you go suspended.”

She’d spoken too soon.

“Really? That’s your topic of choice?”

“I don’t know! It’s been bothering me since Iverson mentioned it. I mean what could _you_  possibly have done? Insult someone to death?”

Pidge wasn’t even offended at this point. Growing up, she was used to people underestimating her.

“Wow. Is that a challenge?”

“ _Please_. I’m like Teflon, baby. Nothing sticks to me.”

Pidge gagged at the pet name. “Call me baby again and I’ll end you.”

Lance laughed. “Force of habit, sorry.”

“Right. I forgot you were a womanizer.”

“Whatever!” Lance interjected with a frown. “Stop changing the subject! Why’d you get suspended?”

Pidge considered telling him. After all, she’d already done her time.

“You remember that day school was cancelled because someone rigged the PA system?”

“Yeah it kept playing freakn’ _All Star_ on loop– Wait…”

Pidge enjoyed the way Lance’s eyes widened comically, unable to help the smug look of satisfaction on her face.

“No _way_.”

“Yup.”

“Dude. That was _you?_ No way! You’re like an urban legend around here!” Lance began flailing with excitement, and Pidge had to lean over to grab the steering wheel before they swerved into another car.

“Eyes on the road!”

“Oops! Sorry…”

Pidge sighed.

“Look, I appreciate the enthusiasm but you can’t tell _anyone_. I value my anonymity.”

Lance gave a nod. “My lips are sealed. But can I ask – why’d you do it?”

 “I don’t know, do you need a reason to fuck with the school?”

“Huh. I guess not,” Lance replied with a shrug. “But maybe you wouldn’t be so grumpy all the time if you socialised more. And then you wouldn’t feel the need to… destroy things.”         

Pidge snorted. “ _Stop_ , you sound like my brother.”

“Oh, you have a brother? Older or younger?”

Shit.

“Uh… older?” Pidge coughed, clearing her throat. She didn’t like where the conversation was headed.

“Yeah? Did he go to Altea too? What’s his name?"

“What’s with the twenty questions?” She tried to keep her voice steady. “Not trying to gather intelligence on the enemy, are you?”

Lance chuckled. “You have no chill…”

 _Please drop the subject, please drop the subject, please drop the subject_. Pidge internally chanted.

He did.

“No, it’s just that I have siblings too, y’know? Kinda miss them…” Lance said, staring out onto the road with this... forlorn look on his face. Pidge almost wanted to ask him what he’d meant when he’d said he missed them but… it just didn’t seem right.

Siblings, it seemed, was a sensitive topic for both of them.

Of course Pidge loved her brother to death, and it wasn’t because she was ashamed of him or anything. But there was a reason she’d kept her relationship to Matt a secret from the other students. It also had a lot to do with why she’d enrolled under the name “Pidge Gunderson” instead of “Katie Holt”. Secrets sucked. But sometimes, they had to be kept.

They didn’t speak for the rest of the ride.

“I uh… think we’re here.” Lance said awkwardly when he pulled in front of the familiar diner.

They left his car in the empty lot and made their way over.

Vrepit Sal’s, the 24 hour diner on the edge of the town. Despite the shitty location and almost constant lack of customers, the owners had managed to keep the place running for the last twenty years. How? Pidge hypothesised some shady business behind the scenes, but she didn’t question it. It wasn’t her place.

Otherwise, there was nothing else too special about it. The interior was pretty standard: a line of red booths and white tables on one side, and a long countertop with stools on the other. Beige walls that were probably white once. Shitty fluorescent lighting.

Pidge just liked it because they had the best milkshakes in town, and there was no chance of running into anyone from school. Ironic, really, that she’d brought Lance of all people.

“Pidge! Good to see you again.”

“Hey Sal. You doin’ okay today?”

The owner, Sal, was a nice guy. Burly and a little rough around the edges, but friendly once you got to know him. Had a booming voice that Pidge found really intimidating at first, but she’d grown used to it over time; it was just the way he spoke.

“Business is slow, as usual. You brought a friend over?”

“Not exactly…” she replied, eyeing Lance, who looked like he was scoping the place out.

They weren’t friends, after all.

“Nice jacket,” he said to Lance, who finally seemed to relax.

“Thanks! Nice place you got here.”

Sal chuckled. “Yeah, if only the rest of the town thought so. You a Lion?” he asked, nodding at the logo on Lance’s chest. “Haven’t had a Lion walk in here in years.”

“Yes sir,” Lance replied with a huge grin. “Star attacker of the team. Can’t do a thing without me.”

Pidge rolled her eyes. “There goes his ego.”

Lance turned to her. “Hey! It’s not my ego, it’s the truth.”

“Alright,” Sal interrupted. “Why don’t you two take a seat, and I’ll bring out some shakes. A strawberry for Pidge, and for the new kid…?”

“Caramel, thanks.”

And with that the two of them took a seat at one of the booths. Pidge laid out her textbooks for the second time that day while Lance pulled out his worksheets. When they were all set up, he looked at her from across the table.

“You ready for round two?”

Pidge grinned. “I bet you don’t hear that often.”

Lance raised his hands gently in defence.

“I’m not even mad. I walked right into that one.”

And so they gave this tutoring thing another shot.

 

 

By the time they’d gone through all the material Pidge had prepared for the lesson, it was already past six. They’d gone overtime mostly because they’d kept getting side-tracked: Lance said he could tie a knot in his cherry stem when the milkshakes came out, and Pidge had bet him a tray of fries that he couldn’t. He couldn’t, and she’d ordered herself the fries while he ordered himself a sundae.

“I have a sweet tooth,” he’d said with a grin. “I like sweet things in my mouth.” A wink.

Pidge chucked an eraser at his head.

On top of that, despite her (very unconventional) pep-talk earlier, they’d continued to bicker throughout the lesson. But there was no bite to – it just seemed natural, at this point, to throw shallow jabs each other. Force of habit, as Lance had said.

Otherwise, he’d kept most of his irrelevant “why” questions to himself, and actually listened to everything Pidge had said. Which meant that Lance had actually learnt something today (yes!), and that Pidge was just that much closer to clearing her permanent record.

And to her surprise, he paid for all her food and drinks too.

“You’re not just doing this to have leverage over me, are you?” Pidge asked cautiously when he grabbed the receipt.

Lance just laughed. “I know you think I was raised in a barn, but my mother taught me manners. You did me a solid. I’m just saying thanks.”

“Funny, you said I was Satan the other day.”

“I still think you are. But you know, even Satan used to be an angel. Which reminds me–”

Pidge glared at him. “ _Don’t_.”

“–Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?”

She punched him (but still thanked him for the food afterwards).

Pidge took the bus home afterwards – insisted on it – because she still wasn’t comfortable with letting Lance know where she lived. They weren’t friends, after all. And there was also the slim chance they’d run into Matt at this hour. Pidge would not let _anyone_ from Altea _near_ her brother. Especially not a jock; especially not Lance. Who wasn’t the absolute scum of the earth as Pidge had initially assumed, but was still – for all intents and purposes – a complete stranger.

Which was completely fine! Keeping Lance at a safe distance; only interacting when necessary. They’d proven today that they could get actual work done, and if she could make it through the rest of this year then… her permanent record was as good as new!

And when Pidge stepped into school next Monday she almost felt optimistic about the coming week. Like things would work out somehow.

Until the fucking fire alarm went off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some Plance interacting before I chuck in the *clenches fist* drama. See you guys sometime in the future! (in like a month).
> 
> Also I made a Plance high school AU aesthetic thing [here](http://bel-ina.tumblr.com/post/159641881384/high-school-pidgance-aesthetic-for-my) like _months_ ago if anyone wants to check that out.


	5. "And yes - she bites"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I was AWOL for a year but a bitch still plans on finishing this!! So!!!

So the thing about fire drills: they were painfully counterintuitive.

Pidge had been at this school for almost 3 years now, and from memory alone she’d lived through about three fire drills, and not a single actual fire. So suffice to say she – and the rest of the student body – had simply assumed this was another pointless ill-timed drill (at 9 in the morning? come on!) and was about to head the rest of the way to class, when… 

When she smelt smoke. 

Okay. So this wasn’t a drill.

It took about twenty more seconds and several whispers of “dude, do you smell that?” before finally someone screamed “FIRE!” all hell broke loose.

Oh. That reminded her: another reason why fire drills were stupid – no one remembered any of the bullcrap they’d learnt about exiting the building in an orderly fashion, and where were all the nearest fire escapes… yada yada. They all just ran for the main exit in an impressive stampede that looked like that one scene from the Lion King, and Pidge half wondered if she was going to pull a Mufasa and (spoiler alert) get trampled to death.

Still, despite the panicked shrieks and masses running around her Pidge was… strangely calm. More annoyed at being pushed and shoved on all sides than the prospect of being cooked alive. Honestly, people were so dramatic these days. One particularly frantic student shoved past her and she found herself face to face (or face to back?) with a familiar blue letterman jacket. 

“Woah… wanna watch where you’re going?”

Pidge grunted. “Don’t.” 

Lance smirked from over his shoulder. “What’d I do?” 

“You were about to make a joke about my height.” She glared at him. “Don’t.”

“So you’re clairvoyant now?”

“No, you’re just highly predictable.” 

“ _Rude_ ,” he said before stopping for a moment to let her in front of him.

Pidge stepped ahead and wondered for a second if Lance would follow her, before she felt him place his hands on her shoulders.

“What are you doing?” she asked. 

“Using you as a shield,” he said.

“A terrible decision. I’d make a shitty shield.”

She heard him laugh. “I’ll take my chances.”

They were silent for a few moments, before she heard Lance call out from behind her: “Make way, people. Small person coming through. Step aside, thank you. Yep – move along.” 

In any other situation she’d be reprimanding him for causing a scene, but everyone around them was so busy trying to save their own asses no one really noticed his antics. Instead, the whole thing was so ridiculous that Pidge just started laughing.

“And yes–” Lance said, gripping her shoulder a little tighter “–she bites.”

“Oh my god, shut _up_.”

 

 

When they finally made it to the front gates most of the student body were already outside, either furiously tapping away at their phones – likely messaging their parents (or whoever else) about their brush with death – or animatedly recounting different versions of the same exact event to their peers.

The second Pidge was outside she saw a familiar tuft of black hair running towards the parking lot.

“Keith! Hey! Keith!” she called and waved.

Keith briefly glance back before turning away and running once again. Knowing that she had to be at the front lawns for roll call (the only bit of fire safety protocol she'd actually remembered), Pidge did the exact opposite and ran after him.

“Keith! Where are you going?” she said, as she chased after him.

She’d made it to the parking lot before she’d lost him.

“Where the heck did you go?” she said as she wandered between the cars before suddenly, a gloved hand covered her mouth. “Mmf!”

Pidge gripped the hand and tugged, before elbowing Keith in the stomach. 

“Ow!”

“Keith! What was that for!?”

“Shh! Keep your voice down!” he said as he ducked beside a car and glanced around him.

“Oh… who are we hiding from?” Pidge asked, ducking beside him.

“ _Everyone_.” Keith replied.

“And I’m all for that but can I just ask why?” 

Keith huffed. “The uh… the fire? I may have... started it…”

Pidge’s eyes widened. “What do you mean you _may_ have?”

“Yeah Keith, what do you mean?”

“Ah!” they both screamed, while Lance casually emerged from behind a parked car.

Pidge grabbed him so that he was also crouching beside her. “ _Dude_. What are you doing here?”

“Well you just ran off, and I wanted to see what was _so_ urgent you had to go without so much as saying goodby–”

“Oh my god.” Pidge said. “Just how much of that conversation did you hear?”

“Not much,” said Lance with a shrug. “Just that mullet over here might’ve committed arson.”

They both turned to Keith, whose soul looked like it had left its body.

Lance stared at him curiously, before sticking out his hand. 

“Nice to meet you by the way, I’m Lance.”

Keith, having woken from his vegetative state, slapped his hand away. “I know who you are. I’ve had English with you for three years and you always throw paper planes at the back of my head.”

Pidge looked from Keith to Lance, watching the entire exchange with fascination.

“Ohhh... my bad,” said Lance, some vague type of realisation dawning on him. “In my defence they weren’t aimed at anyone in _particular_.”

Keith shrugged. “Whatever, dude.”

A moment of silence passed before Lance, quite shamelessly, asked: “So what’s this about starting a fire?” 

“It may not have been him.” Pidge sighed, feeling the onset of a headache. Then, turning to Keith: “Right?”

“No it was definitely me,” Keith said. “I broke into the chem labs earlier this morning to heat up a pizza pocket. I must’ve left the Bunsen burner on or something.”

“Well that’s not conclusive evidence to say it was you.” Pidge added hopefully.

“Or,” Lance said. “Maybe it _was_ you, but either way it'll be a lot more suspicious if someone realises we’re all missing from roll call.”

"You're saying we should head back." Keith interrupted, with enough sarcasm that even Lance noticed.

Lance gave Keith a pointed look before turning to Pidge. "Come on pipsqueak, back me up here."

Keith then turned to look at her too. "You think we should head back?

Pidge was confused. Since when was she appointed general?

After a moment's pause, she finally said. "Lance is right. We should head back and figure out what to do then.” She stood up and began dusting off her pants. "Come on, Keith, I'll walk back with you."

Keith stood up hesitantly beside her. “Okay. I guess I don’t need anyone calling my dad because they think I died in the fire.”

“Especially one that you caused,” Lance said before Pidge smacked him.

“You better not tell anyone about this,” she said.

“What? Of course not! Unless..."

Pidge narrowed her eyes. " _What_."

"What do I get in return?” he asked, with a shit-eating smile.

“You get to leave with your life,” Pidge said. Lance just laughed. 

“Oh come _on_ , I’m serious. Don’t think I won’t tell on you, Pidgeon,” he said with a smirk.

Pidge groaned. “Name your price.”

Lance tapped his finger against his chin, as if in thought, but Pidge had a feeling he already knew _exactly_ what he wanted.

“Come to one of my practice games,” he said finally.

“Ew. _Why?_ ”

“Because," Lance said, shoving his hands in his pockets and taking an idle step towards her. He leaned down so that he was almost eye-level with her. "I know you’d hate it more than anything.”

"What, you don't think I'll throw you off your game?"

"If anything I think it'll motivate me to do better," Lance replied with an innocent smile.

Pidge frowned, looking like she was about to spontaneously combust. She had never been to a single game - or any other school event - in her entire life. And this, surely, was going to be the worst. She'd have to sit in the bleachers by herself, not knowing anyone, listening people whispering about what the hell she was even doing there in the first place. But it wasn't like she could say no. She didn't really know or trust Lance well enough to ask him to keep something as juicy as  _who started the school fire_ all to himself. Even if it was just based on a theory.

Finally, she agreed. “Fine, I’ll do it," she said. "But you have to promise you won’t tell anyone about this… Pinky swear.” 

Pidge held up her little finger in front of his face.

“I promise,” Lance said. “But mostly because you said ‘pinky swear’.”

“Shut up,” Pidge said as he took her finger.

Out of the corner of her eye she could see Keith watching them with an unreadable expression. Huh weird.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter (if it ever comes) there's going to be a lacrosse game. A crazy after party. And a serious talk.


	6. "And yes - she bites" pt.2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll likely combine this with the last chapter because I think they both kinda go together and also I have no clue what I'm doing.

By the time they got back to the school, a fire truck was parked outside the main building, but as far as Pidge could see nothing was up in flames. The oval was a good quarter mile from there, and when they'd finally made their way over to where the roll calls were being held, another five minutes had gone by.

“Lance!” Someone shouted as they came barrelling across the lawn, tackling Lance in a big bear-hug. “You’re _alive_! Where the heck were you?” they cried.

This all happened in a matter of seconds. Both Pidge and Keith were extremely taken aback; she looked at him, mouthing _what the fuck?_ and he simply shrugged, watching the exchange in awe.

“Haha… hey buddy…” said Lance as he gave the boy an awkward pat on the back. Lance looked at Pidge from over his friend’s shoulder. She swiped her thumb across her throat, as if to say _you tell him, you’re dead_.

“I um… I got a little lost,” he said with unease.

The boy finally relinquished Lance from his grip, looking at his face a moment before wailing and falling back into another dramatic hug.

“Okay, Hunk. Calm down, it’s fine.”

“They were going to call your parents!” the boy – Hunk? – cried. “I thought maybe you hadn’t come to school today but then I messaged your aunt and she saw you leave the house-”

“Wait, you messaged my _aunt_?” Lance said, reaching into his pocket for his phone while Hunk was still hanging off him. 

“Eleven missed calls,” he said. “I’m dead.”

And he sounded dead. Pidge must’ve watched the light disappear from his eyes in real-time.

Lance craned his neck to look at his phone from over Hunk’s shoulder, the movement of his thumb indicating that he was scrolling through his messages. From where Pidge was standing, it looked like a long-ass message. “Shit.” he said. “Shit shit shit.”

Then his gaze fell on Pidge. She raised a brow at him questioningly, and without breaking eye-contact, Lance said: “Hey, Hunk. Do you wanna say hi to my friend Pidge?”

Whose friend _who_?

Hunk, actually taking this advice on board, composed himself enough to let go of Lance and turned to face Pidge with a sniffle. He was crying. Actual tears. He gave her a sad look.

“Hi there,” he said, wiping the corners of his eyes with his shirtsleeve. Kid looked miserable, honestly. “I’m Hunk.” He held out the same hand for Pidge to shake.

“Er. I’m Pidge,” she said as she took his hand hesitantly. She glanced at Keith, who was standing inhumanly still, most likely trying not to draw attention to himself. He was about as averse to social interaction as she was, and might’ve snuck off if he didn’t feel some obligation to stay with his fallen comrade.

“Pidge…” said Hunk. “Sorry you had to see that. I just–” sniff  “–I’m a worrier.”

“No, it’s fine. I’m sorry,” Pidge said. She didn’t actually know what she was apologising for, but she really did feel bad for the kid.

In the background she could hear Lance – who had excused himself to a slightly less-crowded patch of lawn just a few feet away – talking quite loudly on the phone (“Why did you call the _police_? … Well call them back! … No _tía_ I’m not raising my voice – what – of course I love you! Who said-”)

“Anyways” said Hunk. “You guys should really go find your homeroom teachers. Most of us already finished roll call, and they’re going to start calling parents soon.”

“I’ve already messaged my dad,” said Keith. It was the first thing he’d said the entire time. “Figured I should get to him before the school did.” 

“Smart call,” said Hunk. “I wish Lance would’ve thought of it.”

“Thanks,” said Keith, who seemed fine enough, but Pidge could tell he was bothered.

“What’d he say?” she asked carefully.

“I think it was something along the lines of ‘thanks for letting me know’ and ‘take care’.”

She didn’t press the issue further, knowing that Keith wasn’t exactly fond of discussing matters regarding his parents.

They each left to find their different homeroom teachers, but Pidge couldn’t help the sense of unease that settled over her.

 

 

When roll call was over they were free to go home. Keith had texted her saying he would head off first, and that they would talk later. About what, he hadn’t specified, but she’d noticed he’d looked a little off the rest of the day, and decided not to badger him until he really felt like talking. Pidge then texted her parents to let them know what had happened. Both of them offered to come pick her up, but she’d wanted to spend the afternoon idly, wandering around school grounds despite it not being allowed.

By noon, three whole hours after the first alarm had gone off, most of the students had left, and only a few teachers, a couple of policemen, and several firemen remained at the scene, examining the damage and assessing the possibility of arson. Pidge tried to avoid them the best she could, unable to shake the feeling of unease. 

Later, she found herself at the carpark again, which was largely empty, save for a few abandoned cars and a familiar blue station wagon that was hard to miss. For some reason, Pidge found herself walking towards it. As she got closer she could see Lance was inside, reclined comfortably in the driver’s seat with his hands behind his head, eyes closed.

She tapped on the glass and he cracked open an eye. Seeing it was her, he smiled, turned the engine on and rolled the window down.

“Hey Pidgeon.” 

Not a fan of the nickname, she resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “What are you still doing here?”

“I told my aunt the fire was just a false alarm, and that school was still on.”

“Why’d you do that?”

“I don’t know…” he replied, and he was quiet for a few moments before finally saying: “When do you ever get to be alone like this, and not have some place you have to be?”

“Do you want me to leave?” she asked, a little defensively.  

“No no,” he said. “Not you…” And then, almost as an afterthought he added: “You’re different.” 

She didn’t know how to respond to that, or what he even meant by it. But before things got too awkward, Lance unlocked the passenger side door and smiled.

“You wanna go for a drive?” 

Pidge wasn’t completely against the idea. While they may not have been close friends like her and Keith, she felt comfortable around Lance. Annoyed, sometimes. Other times he even made her furious. And she was well aware that sometimes he could be a genuine ass. But it was still comfortable – like she could just be herself and give him shit, and he wouldn’t do or say anything to hurt her for real. And she  _did_  also feel like getting away from everything. A drive would do that.

“Let’s do it,” she said and she hopped in.

Lance started the engine and exited the lot. They shared a few minutes of comfortable silence, each dealing with their own thoughts, before Lance spoke: 

“So you looked a little down today.”

“Why do you say that?” Pidge asked absently. She was watching a lady walk her overly-energetic dog, trying to reign it in to a more comfortable pace.

“Just, y’know, the Satanic fires of hell aren’t burning as bright as usual.”

She scoffed. “Wow. Is that how you gauge my mood? By the number of insults I throw at you?”

“ _Yes_ ,” he said, looking her dead in the eye with such melodramatic seriousness it made Pidge smile as she shook her head.

“I’m fine," she said. "I’m just worried... about stuff...”

“Oh… you mean Billy Ray Cyrus?”

“Who?”

“Your friend, Keith.”

“Billy Ray Cyrus does _not_ have a mullet.”

“So you admit it, then: Keith has a mullet.”

Pidge laughed. She couldn’t help it. Lance had the dumbest humour, but sometimes he caught her off-guard. When she finally caught her breath, she let out a breathy sigh. 

“Hey Lance?”

“Yeah?”

“You suck about 10% less than usual today.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“ _Nice_.”

And she would never admit this to him but Pidge actually felt a little better. Less stressed. A little less worried. Like things would just work themselves out, and she would go to school the next day, and everything would be normal, just like they'd been a week ago before Lance tumbled into her quiet little life and stirred everything up.

They drove for a while longer, and talked about various things. Lance complained about which subjects he hated the most, and Pidge disagreed with him on almost every one of them (all but one: they both liked PE. Lance, because he was good at it. And Pidge, because she didn’t have to participate).

Finally, Lance parked by a bus stop Pidge wanted to be let off at – totally illegal, by the way, but there weren’t any cops or cameras around to their knowledge. Just as she was about to get off, he leant across to undo her seatbelt for her and open the passenger-side door.

He was close, so _so_ close, and she could smell the muted scent of his cologne, worn off during the day, and whatever fabric softener he’d used on his clothes. She felt a little dizzy – likely from being in such close proximity to another human being, something she was completely not used to.  

She turned to him, maybe to say thanks, but whatever the reason it was forgotten in an instant.

“Get home safe,” Lance said as he tapped her chin lightly with his index finger, not so much to tilt her face up, but gently – touching for the sake of touching. It was weird – so weird – because why would he ever touch her like that? And Pidge was suddenly far too keen to exit the car.

But then she realised this was probably how Lance interacted with all girls. Casual, almost flirty little gestures and remarks. _Force of habit_ , she remembered him saying. They were just normal patterns of behaviour he fell into whenever he let his guard down. It was dumb to read into it. She forced herself to smile.

“You too," she mumbled and walked away without so much as looking back.

When she heard the sound of his engine disappearing into the distance, Pidge grabbed her chest. Her heart – it was beating so fast.

But from what, she had no clue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Btw @ everyone who commented on the last chapter. You guys are so cute!! I can't believe there are people still here after a whole year!!! Thanks for leaving a comment ~___~


	7. "Curse my small arms"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No it's not a glitch. It's really another chapter.

That evening an email was sent out by the school, informing everyone that class would be cancelled for the rest of the week:

" _Dear students and faculty_ ," it said.

" _In light of yesterday's events we are sorry to inform you that school will be cancelled for the following **two days**. Although the fire was promptly contained, there is still extensive property damage to several classrooms, and a full structural evaluation will have to be conducted before the building can be safely occupied. _

 _Students, although you must all be quite shaken by these events and morale is undoubtedly low, please know that we are very fortunate not to have suffered any casualties. Additionally, the content of your final assessments will be adjusted to accommodate this disruption to study._

_I thank everyone for their patience and cooperation._

_Best,_

_Principle Allura_ "

Pidge closed the email and sat by her laptop in silence. She was actually glad school had been cancelled for a few days – it meant she wouldn’t have to see Lance until Friday that week.

Oh god. _Lance_.

She blushed as she remembered what happened in the car earlier that day – which was barely even a thing, really… Certainly not something that _he_ would’ve thought twice about. So then why was she so bothered?

Thinking about it now Pidge realised Lance had always been a tactile person; he’d touched her quite often in the past. Casually though – a little pat on the head, or a good-natured slap on the back, and she’d barely even noticed it. But now, because of this one incident she was overthinking everything – reading into and analysing each one of their interactions to see if she’d missed some crucial defining feature of their relationship.

Pidge had always thought he hated her a little bit – she never gave him any reason for much else. After all she was mean to him, and called him all sorts of expletives and smacked him on average 3 times per day. And, she could honestly say from the bottom of her heart, that _she_ at least hated him… at first.

But Pidge didn’t really know how to feel at this point. Which was now a massive setback in their relationship because just when she'd gotten to the point of feeling comfortable around him, he had to go and make it all _weird_.

“ _Ugh_ ,” she said aloud. “ _Why_.”

Pidge was so preoccupied by these thoughts that she had completely forgotten about Keith, and how he said he’d call her later tonight. Which was why, when her ringtone went off she was so startled that she fell out of her desk chair. 

“ _Hello?_ ” she groaned.

“Pidge? Is that you?” Keith said over the line. “Your voice sounds weird.”

“I’m in pain,” she replied from the floor of her bedroom.

“Are you okay?” he asked. “You good to talk?" 

Pidge heard what sounded like several engines revving in the background.

“Um are _you_ good to talk? Where are you right now? A motor show?”

“No,” he replied. “Just a casual street race.”

“ _Just a casual street race_ ," she repeated. "Just casually breaking the law. What’s new.” 

She was only being mildly sarcastic – this was actually, like, _very_ normal for Keith.

“Don’t worry," he said. "I’m just with the Blade. They asked me if I wanted to hang.”

Pidge sat up from the floor and rubbed the back of her head. 

“Keith,” she said. “If you think that telling me you’re _hanging out with a gang_  will somehow make me _less_ worried then my dude…” Pidge got up and sat back down at her desk “…you’re completely right. So what’d you wanna talk about?”

She heard him laugh. But what she said wasn’t entirely untrue. Pidge had met some of the Blade while she was hanging out with Keith. A few of the younger members actually went to college with Matt, who didn’t even realise they were part of a gang until Pidge had casually mentioned it (which was probably breaking like ten gang rules but no one had called her out yet so…) They all seemed super serious, and Pidge had found them intimidating at first, but she saw how they took care of Keith, and since both of his parents were pretty much missing in action, she didn’t mind it.

Keith said they were mainly into bootlegging and some form of guerrilla warfare – against who and for what reason was left unspecified – but that level of secrecy was to be expected.

“So yeah,” Pidge said as she stretched. “What’s up?” 

She heard Keith shift over the line, the sounds of the engines fading away into the distance. Eventually, when it was quiet enough that he didn’t have to raise his voice, he said: “I’m worried about you,” 

“Excuse you? Worried about me? Three seconds ago you told me you were illegally street racing with a bunch of bootlegging criminals.”

“Pidge, I’m being serious. What are you…” His tone was clipped, and he suddenly sounded very morose. “What are you doing with _Lance_?" 

Oh boy. The dreaded topic. Pidge tried her best to sound normal.

“I didn’t realise I was doing _anything_ with Lance. I mean I told you I was tutoring him but–” 

“It’s not just that though, is it? I heard you guys have been hanging out.”

“Heard from where?”

“Here and there? People just talk, I guess… Actually, I think some guy from the lacrosse team said Lance skipped practice one day to pick you up, they thought, y’know…”

“What.” Pidge challenged. “What’d they think?” 

Keith was quiet for a moment, then said: “That you might be dating?”

Pidge winced. _What the fuck?_ People though her and Lance _might be dating?_ What were they thinking! The fact that anyone was talking about her, and that _this_ was their topic of choice made her feel… furious. Why should her personal life be of any interest to anyone but herself? And why with Lance? To her it was completely obvious that the two of them were _the_ most romantically incompatible pair of human beings in the entire school. And yet someone had blown up this rumour based on some completely arbitrary titbit of information, acquired by a dumb jock – damn these lacrosse jocks, honestly – of all people. 

This was exactly the reason she’d tried so hard to stay invisible throughout freshman and sophomore year. This was why she hated high school. Pidge was mad, and… admittedly scared. 

“Keith why are you telling me this?”

“I just wanted to check on you.”

“Yes but why are you telling me  _this_. You of all people should know that I hate rumours more than _anything_.”

“I know, and I know what you’re thinking. But this is completely different to when Matt–”

“ _Don’t_.” Pidge said, wincing at the mention of her brother’s name.

The line went silent.

After what felt like forever, Pidge heard Keith sigh.

“…Sorry.” He said softly. “That was out of line, I just think–”       

“Keith.” Pidge interrupted. “I hope you know that I’m mad at you – that you called me to waste my time on this shit.”

“Pidge, wait–”

She hung up.

It was harsh. She knew it. It wasn’t Keith’s fault and she was taking it out on him unfairly. It's just that when he mentioned Matt’s name it had set her off. Pidge was reminded all over again how crappy high school was, and why she hated all the vapid clueless airheads who went there. She wanted a quiet, peaceful and drama-less existence, and for that, it became clear what she had to do.

She had to avoid Lance.

 

 

The two days off school had flown past so quickly it was like she’d barely even had a break. Pidge spent the extra time finishing up her homework – which only took half a day – and catching up on a few video games she’d neglected over the term. She’d managed to get through the next _six_ checkpoints and was feeling pretty pleased with herself.

Despite her little tiffle with Keith a few days ago, Pidge felt hopeful. See, she had a plan:

First: apologise to Keith. Which wasn’t too intimidating considering that they’d had several fights in the past, far more serious than this one, and their friendship had made it out unscathed every time.

Second: avoid Lance. She wouldn’t interact with him until absolutely necessary – and even then she’d try her best not to talk to him. This would hopefully put those terrible dating rumours to rest.

And third: live the rest of her high school days under the radar, graduate and be done with this shit.

Great plan, yes?

 _No_.

It was a shit plan, because avoiding Lance was like avoiding the plague in medieval Europe; she’d tried her best but the boy was fucking _everywhere_.

In the morning, Pidge saw him in the hallways on the way to homeroom. He was walking with a few other guys from his team, moving together in a noticeable blue mass. When Lance spotted her he smiled and waved. Her arm moved out of reflex – as if to wave back – before she stopped herself and hurried away to class. 

Pidge saw him again at the beginning of lunch. He was trying to shove his gym bag into his locker, which was very inconveniently located near the cafeteria entrance. Pidge spun on her heel and immediately began walking in the opposite direction.

At lunch her and Keith were sitting at a picnic bench colour-coding a bag of Skittles. Pidge had tried giving them to him as an apology, but found out that he was never even mad to begin with. Keith had also apologised for believing a bunch of stupid rumours and upsetting her, and it was all hunky dory. That was, until, Pidge spotted Lance walking across the oval with – what was his name again? oh that’s right – _Lotor_ , both carrying their lacrosse sticks in one hand and a helmet in the other.

“Holy-crap-I-have-to-pee,” Pidge said quickly as she got up and stalked off to wherever the fuck Lance wasn’t.

“But that way’s the carpark!” Keith called out after her, totally oblivious. _Oh Keith_. 

She turned around to respond when she noticed Lance looking her way.

“Uh… I have to move my car,” Pidge replied as she ran away hastily.

“But you don’t have a car?” she heard Keith say in confusion.

 _The plan is working_. Pidge thought to herself. _It’s annoying as hell, but it’s working_.

The only downside to hiding in the carpark during lunch was that she was definitely going to be late for her next class. It was a trek and a half back to the main building and by the time she arrived at her locker the halls were empty.

Pidge stood up on her tippy-toes to reach the book she’d chucked up on the top shelf. Throwing it there had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now she was struggling to get it down. She was so absorbed in the task that she didn’t hear the sound of footsteps coming up behind her.

“Curse my small arms,” Pidge huffed, dropping them to her sides.

She had just about given up when someone reached overhead and grabbed the textbook for her.

“Need a little help there?” Lance said, handing her the textbook.

Pidge stared at him in disbelief. “Thanks,” she said.

He smiled as he looked down at her, placing his forearm just above her head and leaning against it. “So did you think you’d grow the extra foot or something when you picked this locker?”

Pidge laughed, despite herself. “I didn’t pick it, dummy, it was assigned.”

“Really? I got to pick mine.”

“Oh well it must be nice having things handed to you.”

Lance chuckled. “Didn’t I just hand you your textbook?”

“…Yes,” she said grudgingly.

“And? Was it nice of me?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Pidge admitted.

“So aren’t you glad I just _happened_ to be here to save you?” Lance said.

And then - for whatever reason - he reached for her, tilting her chin up with his finger.

Holy shit holy shit _holy shit_ – what was he _doing_?

“I–” Pidge was about to retaliate when she realised the position they were in: the two of them, face to face against the lockers. She had a sudden flashback to when she’d first met him, and he was in this exact scenario with another girl.

She felt sick.

Pidge cursed herself; she'd let her guard down, having fallen into the comfortable habit talking to him, and now she was back to square one.

She jerked out of his grip and looked around to see if someone was watching. Fortunately the halls were empty, but anyone could be lurking around the corner, and she wanted to get out of there fast.

“I have to go,” Pidge said quickly as she ducked out from under him and made her way down the corridor.

Lance was messing with her - he  _had_ to be. Otherwise none of this made sense...

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things:
> 
> 1\. No update til after the 30th bc I have finals (kms)
> 
> 2\. Your comments give me my actual life I did nothing to deserves this fullsrs
> 
> 3\. HMU on the tumblr: [bel-ina](http://bel-ina.tumblr.com) (honestly if you give me suggestions or tropes to include I will 100% do it)
> 
> 4\. pce


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